


Poetry to Fish (some fish are quick learners)

by mercuryhatter



Series: Naomi/Raphael- femslash february project [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Femslash February, Other, season six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>beginning takes place during The Man Who Knew Too Much/Meet The New Boss and the end at the point where Naomi gets Castiel out of Purgatory. mostly, a brief alternate view of Castiel's time as God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetry to Fish (some fish are quick learners)

**Author's Note:**

> all pronoun variations are intentional.

"All of you will be punished. There is nowhere to hide." 

The words echo across all the planes of Heaven and shake Naomi to the center of their being, even scattered as they are, torn to bits by their own hand to escape the storm that was that little foot soldier all full of monsters. 

Naomi didn’t think Castiel could hear it, the way the vibrations of zir voice were  _off_  in the sickest way, how, if you listened closely, you could hear the laughter of millions under zir breath. Castiel was still there, but barely, a shrinking bright spot spiderwebbed over with viscous black.

But it wasn’t just the black that spread and chased and ripped and killed, there were shards of the angel embedded as well, threads of Grace that, however sickened, was still Grace. Castiel was not in control, but ze hadn’t lost it, either. Maybe Naomi would have been able to forgive zir, if ze had. 

Heaven smells like burnt flesh and desecrated Grace for what seems like years, but the angel and zir monsters are already gone, flown back to Earth where the real blood flows. The remaining angels are abandoned to piece themselves back together or to fall apart, to choke on singed feathers and scream grief and rage and resignation across the universe. They all used to be so important. For the first time, the angels feel small. 

Naomi is not resigned. They are not small. They feel the pain of their siblings tear through their scattered being and they pull strength from it. They retrieve the pieces of themselves and start the process of stitching it back together. 

Naomi never thought they would have to do that part on their own. Raphael had been beside them for the process of tearing up and blowing apart, spreading Naomi far across the universe, hiding them, keeping them safe, in case Raphael never made it back. Raphael and Naomi foresaw the revenge that might be taken on them and took measures to prevent it, yes. But still Naomi hadn’t believed it would go this far. 

Now she stands in the center of Heaven, where the garden should be; she’s whole again, but riven with fault lines. She looks like a stained glass portrait, broken pieces lined with enamel to form a new image. She’s surrounded by white, she banishes any trace of anything else, any reminder of scorched wings or black ooze or thousands of blue eyes. She builds her refuge, and she rescues her siblings, and she waits, and she watches. 

When the little foot soldier returns, just a little bright flame of a broken angel, she is ready. 

She wonders if she’ll find some trace of Raphael when she digs in deep with her silver needle. 


End file.
